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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915929">letters▰▰▰</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extended Illness, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heartwarming, Heartwrenching, Loss, Referenced Canon Minor Character Death, Sad, Sad AF at Times, end of life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:13:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,644</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil reads Jackie's letters over coffee every day and replies, their daily ritual continuing even since she's become very sick.</p><p>Please read the tags. It's heartwarming and heart-wrenching at the same time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>letters▰▰▰</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Many lines in, Gil clutched the blue stationary paper a bit tighter.</p><p>
  <em>There weren’t many things that brought me happiness.</em>
</p><p>Gil remembered carrying the kid in his arms like it was yesterday. A shaking mass that once latched on, he couldn’t get rid of. Not that he wanted to. Just that it reminded him how much help he needed.</p><p>
  <em>You showed me what a good man is.</em>
</p><p>Snuggled on the couch, a nature documentary on in the background, both he and Jackie holding the kid, looking over his head to each other.</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to miss him.</em>
</p><p>Gone were the days they could all gather around the kitchen table and bet on who would win the next game of Monopoly. There weren’t any games left to win. The fight was over.</p><p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>He had never loved anyone like her. The kid was a different kind of love, equal, but different. And she’d taken to loving Malcolm the moment she’d met him. She was <em>the one</em> when she pulled Malcolm in like her own child, doing anything to help him. She continued being <em>the one</em> through her actions every day. There was no one like Jackie.</p><p>
  <em>With everything I have.</em>
</p><p>They gave each other <em>everything</em>. What would happen when she wasn’t there to receive his offerings anymore? Would she disappear — lost, forgotten?</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry to go so soon.</em>
</p><p>His gut clenched — he was sorry too. That he’d failed her, that after every doctor they’d seen and treatment they’d tried, the consensus was there wasn’t anything anything they could do. He was powerless to help her.</p><p>After several more paragraphs, a scribbled J closed off the note. Gil folded it up and put it in his wallet to keep close to him.</p><p>Another one of her notes lay on the table in the trail of letters she left every day, sharing her love for him. He’d read them over coffee and reply so she’d have something to wake up to.</p><p>
  <em>Boss —</em>
</p><p>He set down the pen and took a long pull of coffee.</p><p>
  <em>You always bring a smile to my face.</em>
</p><p>He smiled writing the words and tapped his fingers on the table.</p><p>
  <em>I still have the tokens you gave me at the precinct. Sometimes I hold them when thinking of you.</em>
</p><p>Times like now, where he grabbed onto the mug handle a little tighter in place of fiddling with the flatter tokens he could hide in his palm.</p><p>
  <em>Hope you can enjoy the sunshine today. It’s supposed to be a warm one.</em>
</p><p>Hopefully they wouldn’t get too warm making the rounds completing their questioning.</p><p>
  <em>Give a call if you need anything.</em>
</p><p>He’d drop everything, come back home in a heartbeat.</p><p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>He scrawled out a looping G and left the note behind, washing his mug in the sink. He took one last look around and grabbed his keys to head to the precinct.</p>
<hr/><p>Follow up questioning turned into getting called out to another scene. The team had made a first pass through when Gil’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Hey, kid,” he answered.</p><p>“We tracked a suspect across state lines, and I talked him down without anyone getting hurt!” Malcolm blurted in excitement.</p><p>“That’s great — “</p><p>“I walked through all the different ways we could help him, and he <em>listened</em>,” Malcolm kept rambling.</p><p>“So they trained you okay,” Gil joked.</p><p>“It’s the FBI, of course!” Malcolm's exuberance could have made the flowers bloom. Maybe Gil should get some to spruce up the house. Bright yellow.</p><p>“I don’t know — still not too late for you to come NYPD.” Their ongoing joke since Malcolm had left.</p><p>“Maybe someday.” Malcolm finally took a breath. “How’re you today?”</p><p>“It’s gorgeous out. Getting to spend some time in the sunshine.” Gil looked to the garden behind the restaurant where he had taken the call.</p><p>“That’s the weather, not you,” Malcolm argued a line he had pulled on the kid numerous times.</p><p>“Things are…things. You know.” Gil rubbed his forehead. A wife he wished he could spend time with over a barrage of cases.</p><p>“Give a call if you need anything. I can come up, help — “</p><p>“We’ve got it,” Gil insisted.</p><p>“Okay,” Malcolm conceded.</p><p>“Congrats, kid.” Gil hung up and reentered the building to his team.</p>
<hr/><p>Folded looseleaf paper waited on the counter next to the coffee pot. Gil started the morning brew and opened the note.</p><p>
  <em>Boss —</em>
</p><p>He smiled.</p><p>
  <em>It’s hard to breathe most days.</em>
</p><p>He could hear her struggle on a nightly basis. Sometimes woke needing to help her sit up to be more comfortable.</p><p>
  <em>But I’m learning to worry about it a little less.</em>
</p><p>She had all the strength he didn’t. He didn’t think the worry he’d wake up to her not breathing would ever go away. Some nights he wouldn’t sleep, instead just watching her chest rise and fall to know she was still with him.</p><p>
  <em>As long as I can still see your smile, I am happy.</em>
</p><p>He smiled back. He could see her smile in every corner of the kitchen.</p><p>
  <em>Keep being happy, even when there are the sad moments.</em>
</p><p>He wanted to go back in the bedroom to check on her again, but didn’t want to chance waking her.</p><p>
  <em>Love you — J</em>
</p><p>Gil played with the folds of the paper a few moments, the airy sound of the coffee finishing percolating breaking his trance. He poured himself a cup and sat at the kitchen table to reply.</p><p><em>Boss —</em> </p><p>She was definitely the bigger boss of the two of them, but they never stopped teasing each other with the equal titles.</p><p>
  <em>The kid was so excited — brought in a suspect without any fanfare.</em>
</p><p>She’d be the first to congratulate Malcolm and give him back equal zeal.</p><p>
  <em>Well, maybe a little talking fanfare. It is Bright.</em>
</p><p>They’d laugh over that later. Once he’d started talking again, always the chatterbox.</p><p>
  <em>His eyes must have been blown wide like when we took him to Coney Island. All excitement hiding fear.</em>
</p><p>A whole two french fries they’d gotten the kid to eat. He wouldn’t go on any rides, but he was mesmerized by all the people, all the colorful explosions catching his eyes. The three of them had ended up finding a quiet corner of the beach and sitting together, Malcolm sandwiched between them.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe he could come see us. He’s busy, but I know he’d make the time.</em>
</p><p>Maybe Gil would give in one of the times he asked if it was what Jackie wanted. He'd respect her wishes. Always.</p><p>
  <em>Try to stay inside today. It’s a bit rainy. Don’t want you catching cold.</em>
</p><p>He’d worry like he always did, as if with a few drips, pneumonia would set in.</p><p>
  <em>Love — G</em>
</p><p>He folded the note and left it on the table, ready for her to wake to.</p>
<hr/><p>“They’ve got me inside again, Gil. Inside!” Malcolm exclaimed so loud Gil needed to pull the phone away from his ear.</p><p>“It’s raining. It’s a good place for your ass to be.” Gil chuckled.</p><p>“After that case I was <em>sure</em> to be out more.” It had been over a week, and <em>that case</em> remained the predominant thing Malcolm talked about.</p><p>“Kid, are you not smart enough to keep your head out of the rain?” Some days he couldn’t even with this kid.</p><p>“Might as well be raining inside,” Malcom retorted. Gil envisioned his teeth clenching in frustration.</p><p>“Why’s that?”</p><p>“They’re giving me shit about my father.” Malcolm sighed.</p><p>“I’ll make the call.” He’d track down anyone who pulled shit to try to block Malcolm’s progression.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. It’s just the usual trouble. Anyhow — ” Malcolm attempted to brush the subject away. “ — stop worrying about me. How are you?”</p><p>“It’s raining at your house like it’s raining at mine.” Gil’s furrowed brow carried over to the open case files on his desk. Pieces weren’t adding up, and he just wanted to be home. He couldn’t stay home because they’d agreed, because —</p><p>“Make the lauya,” Malcolm’s talking interrupted his train of thought. “It’s simple enough on the stomach, will help you feel better.”</p><p>Comfort food. “I don’t know if she — “ Gil stopped and took a deep breath to clear his emotions. “I don’t know if it’s the right dinner.”</p><p>“Stick to something easy.”</p><p>Gil stroked his goatee, his fingers needing something to do. “Yeah, you’re right.”</p><p>“Call me, alright? If you need help getting through it. I make mean mashed potatoes.”</p><p>“We taught you to cook your grilled cheese, kid. We’ve got it,” Gil’s voice found a little grit of disbelief at his suggestion.</p><p>“Alright. Talk to you later.”</p>
<hr/><p>Gil missed the days he and Jackie could sit at the kitchen table having breakfast together. Now his chances to see her were in the evening.</p><p><em>Boss —</em> </p><p>If she’d just loosen the reins and let him stay home.</p><p>
  <em>When you’re struggling, remember the good times.</em>
</p><p>Fuck, that alone made his eyes water, his lip tremble.</p><p>
  <em>You’re strong. So strong. Go to that place we can all sit together without a care in the world.</em>
</p><p>He started crying, a sob bit back between his lips. He didn’t need to wake her because he couldn’t keep it together.</p><p>
  <em>It’s still there. You know it. Find it.</em>
</p><p>She couldn’t go out anymore. The three of them didn’t fit together, not on a park bench, not at a table, not smushed in on the sofa watching television. They could lay together in bed, but he didn’t want to subject Malcolm to that. Things were drastically different since she had tipped so, so sick there wasn’t turning back.</p><p>
  <em>I know you’re shaking your head. Try harder.</em>
</p><p>He shook his head and gave a little huff. <em>Now</em> he was. He brushed away his tears with his shirt sleeve, a few more drips threatening to follow.</p><p>
  <em>Tell the kid hello for me. Maybe we can call him later.</em>
</p><p>They should. It had been two days since they’d last spoken and a couple weeks since Malcolm had mentioned any trouble at work.</p><p>
  <em>Love you — J</em>
</p><p>Gil got up for a tissue and did his best to clean his face and clear his sinuses. He took several deep breaths, his tears threatening to keep coming back. He returned to the table, a spare tissue palmed opposite his pen.</p><p><em>Boss —</em> </p><p>Breathe.</p><p>
  <em>Most days I don’t know if I can do this.</em>
</p><p>Another tear dripped, hitting the page. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>
  <em>And that’s not fair to tell you. God, that’s not fair.</em>
</p><p>His eyes were sieves, any moisture generated falling out and needing to be blotted with the tissue before it could mar the paper further.</p><p>
  <em>But my chest will swell, and I’ll think of you and wish I could be here with you all day.</em>
</p><p>But she didn’t want him to be. She wanted both he and Malcolm to continue living their lives, not wallow with her at home.</p><p>
  <em>This is one of those days. I’m sitting here with my coffee, and it’s so hard to leave.</em>
</p><p>He sniffed, his nose full of fluid.</p><p>
  <em>Silly, I know.</em>
</p><p>He sniffed again, yet realized he should probably just blow his nose.</p><p>
  <em>Let’s go for a drive in the LeMans later.</em>
</p><p>He could have wishful thinking.</p><p>
  <em>All my love — G</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>After work, Gil rushed home and then drove, drove, drove until his phone buzzed in the center console.</p><p>“Hey, kid.” Gil pulled over and answered the phone. He couldn’t take a full deep breath. Nope — he still hadn’t driven far enough. “It’s not a good day,” spilled out before he could think of what to say.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Malcolm shared.</p><p>“I miss being able to do this with her,” Gil admitted, his breath hitching at the end. “Driving by myself, it’s not the same. I want to bring her with me, I want to, I — “</p><p>“Gil, breathe with me a second,” Malcolm instructed and several overemphasized breaths came through the phone.</p><p>Gil walked closer to the water and sat himself at the edge of the park.</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“Irvington.” He could see the city skyline far in the distance amongst the sunset.</p><p>“Are you — “</p><p>“Tell me about your day, your latest adventure, the newest person to yell at you — <em>anything</em> that isn’t this,” Gil pleaded, his hands shaking.</p><p>“I tried a bite of turkey — it still does not agree with me. Only ran three blocks today — not really feeling the longer distance. I might get a new case, but they’re really not sure, so it’s not even worth mentioning,” he rambled, sounding like he was listing off anything that came to the top of his mind.</p><p>“Mmmhmm,” Gil let him keep wandering, finding the rhythm of his voice soothing.</p><p>“Dinner might not happen? I don’t know. They’ve got me buried in paperwork. Umm, I knocked over my water glass at lunch. ‘That’s bright!’” he mocked.</p><p>“Don’t let them do that,” Gil sternly interrupted his monologue.</p><p>“Picking my battles.”</p><p>“You could still come NYPD.”</p><p>“It’s very tempting.”</p><p>“Don’t let us be the reason,” Gil gave a firm reminder. Malcolm had offered to move back home so many times, and the three of them had had a litany of conversations on why he shouldn’t.</p><p>“I know.” Gil heard the pop of what he assumed was a seltzer. “Time’s passed for that anyway.”</p><p>“You’re right.”</p><p>They were both silent for a bit, content in knowing they had each other’s ears for company.</p><p>“Can you get home safe?” Gil could hear Malcolm’s worry. “I can call — “</p><p>“I’m fine, kid,” Gil asserted, hoping it sounded less like a blatant lie, just as if Malcolm had said the phrase to him.</p><p>“Sure,” Malcolm replied.</p>
<hr/><p>It was a struggle for Gil to get out of bed after the long night. Work wasn’t very appealing, and even his morning coffee wasn’t perking him up. He sat at the kitchen table with Jackie’s note, hoping it would bring him something to keep him going.</p><p><em>Boss —</em> </p><p>The handwriting was so frail as if the pen was running out of ink. But it wasn’t the pen, it was the holder nearing her last breaths.</p><p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>Jackie…</p><p>
  <em>Look to your heart and you’ll find me.</em>
</p><p>He instinctively looked down at his blue turtleneck sweater, wishing she were there to hug. To hold in one of their smushing grasps and never let go.</p><p>There weren’t a few more lines of what to look forward to in his day. Wasn’t a scrawled J. Just the faint traces of a pen trying and failing to start anew. Never picking up again.</p><p>The letters were ending. Then she’d be gone, gone —</p><p>But she already was.</p><p>He set aside his coffee and grabbed the pen. Pushed harder than he needed to in a fervor to get it all out.</p><p><em>Kid —</em> </p><p>The one he’d forever be repaying for so many things he didn’t deserve to be in the middle of.</p><p>
  <em>This probably all seems so silly to you.</em>
</p><p>Thinking about it now, it felt silly to him. If anyone had asked whether he would have resorted to this, he would have laughed.</p><p>
  <em>When I write Jackie, it’s like she’s still here.</em>
</p><p>Sitting with him, eating breakfast at the kitchen table, just any other day of them trading notes before he had to leave for work. Then, when she’d gotten sicker, their way of giving each other something warm to wake up to, despite her need for more rest.</p><p>
  <em>But it’s something you’ve indulged long enough. Probably too long.</em>
</p><p>She was dead. For a bit over a month. This couldn’t go on forever. The kid was probably analyzing everything wrong with him over his need to write every day.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe you could come up on a weekend instead.</em>
</p><p>So he could explain. He’d had a hard time sharing his house with anyone after her death, yet now he just had an overwhelming urge to see Malcolm.</p><p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>He held back a sob, a tear falling onto the paper. Scribbled a G and set the pen aside. Raced out the door before his emotions could catch up with him.</p>
<hr/><p>There was a knock on Gil’s office door after lunch, and he looked up to Malcolm standing in the doorway. “Hey,” Malcolm said. He was in a suit with a bag slung over his shoulder.</p><p>Gil rounded his desk and pulled Malcolm into his arms. “Hey, kid.”</p><p>“I — “ Malcolm started.</p><p>“Let’s go home.” Gil ushered him out the door.</p><p>The drive back to Gil’s house was quiet, Gil not saying a word until they were both in the kitchen. “I don’t know how you’ve even been doing this,” Gil admitted.</p><p>Malcolm held up his hands like he didn’t mean any threat. “Look, it’s — “</p><p>“Thank you.” Gil hugged him again.</p><p>“It’s all Jackie.” Malcolm fumbled in his pocket to remove his wallet. He slipped out a piece of blue stationary paper that matched the one Gil kept in his own. “You can read it,” Malcolm offered, holding it out to him.</p><p>“It’s yours.” Gil shook his head, knowing he wouldn’t want anyone to have his.</p><p>“But it explains — “</p><p>“Maybe later.” Gil accepted the paper and added it to his wallet.</p><p>“Ainsley’s been dropping them off. Sending me a picture so I could check in. I collected them all when I got here.” Malcolm patted his bag.</p><p>Gil nodded, stilled in the space, lost in his head.</p><p>“You can keep writing me,” Malcolm offered. “I know it’s really hard to talk about. It’s hard for me to talk about,” Malcolm’s voice caught, but he swallowed and kept going. “But if writing is helping, write me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gil agreed to his suggestion and walked toward the living room. He needed something familiar. “Let’s put on one of your movies.”</p><p>“You’re kidding.” Malcolm raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Anything narrated by David Attenborough.” Gil fiddled with the remote.</p><p>Malcolm followed after him. “My favorite, yes, but Gil — “</p><p>“Please. She’d want us to be together.” Gil handed over the remote.</p><p>Malcolm nodded and queued up <em>The Life of Birds</em>, something they had watched at least a dozen times. Malcolm burrowed into the arm of the couch, leaving the whole span of couch beside him, and Gil dropped into the opposite end. “Squeeze me in,” Malcolm requested, leaning into the arm and gesturing his hand to invite Gil to come closer.</p><p>“Aren’t you funny?” Gil shook his head, but wrapped his arms around the kid. Malcolm gave the same hug back, pulling Gil into him.</p><p>Smushed together against the arm, it was almost like the three of them snuggling, Gil and Jackie holding onto Malcolm. Except this time, Gil was pretty sure it was Malcolm holding onto him.</p>
<hr/><p>Gil managed to get Malcolm to bed after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, Malcolm making a slow shuffle down the hall. Absent a thrum of activity going on around him, Malcolm had napped to the calming narration. Hopefully Malcolm would be able to fall asleep again.</p><p>Gil changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and slipped into bed. Ran his fingers over the soft flannel of Jackie’s nightshirt. Brushed her pillow. Picked up her nightshirt and pressed it to his face in an attempt to catch any remaining traces of her sweet scent. Her whole side of the bed lacked any dimension of the woman who used to occupy it, including her warmth.</p><p>He returned her nightshirt to beside him and retrieved her letter to Malcolm from his wallet on the nightstand. Opening it, the paper was pocked with dried imperfections from tears, well worn from Malcolm’s readings.</p><p><em>Kid —</em> </p><p>Always their kid.</p><p>
  <em>You brought me so much happiness.</em>
</p><p>Gil smiled, recalling Malcolm between them throwing blueberries into pancakes in the kitchen, Gil teasing <em>you’re ruining them!</em></p><p>
  <em>You’ve become such a good man.</em>
</p><p>He had. Spending all this time worrying about Gil when he had grief and responsibilities of his own.</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to miss him.</em>
</p><p>They both missed Jackie so, so much. The reminder she was gone spurred his throat into choking up, his jaw into locking so it wouldn’t tremble.</p><p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>“I love you, Jackie,” he whispered to her side of the bed, rubbing her nightgown again.</p><p>
  <em>I’m so incredibly proud.</em>
</p><p>Oh, he was too. He should tell him, he really should —</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry to go so soon.</em>
</p><p>Gil bit his lip, one tear managing to slip out and fall down his cheek. He held strong like she had told him so many times and read on.</p><p>
  <em>These are daily letters to give to Gil to help him through the first month. There aren’t words for how difficult it will be, but we’ve traded these for so long, I needed to give him the comfort of a few more. Please get them to him any way you can.</em>
</p><p>Of course she had planned all of it. Planned everything in an attempt to relieve the burden for him. None of it was easy, but her notes brought such a comfort he was so grateful for.</p><p>
  <em>Be there for each other. It’ll be tough, but you knew how to take care of each other before me, and you will continue to after.</em>
</p><p>His tears spilled, and Gil had to hold the paper away so he wouldn’t pit the surface any further.</p><p>
  <em>I love you with everything I have, Bright.</em>
</p><p>A scrawled J ended the note. He refolded it and placed it back on the nightstand, then curled in on himself, sobbing into her nightshirt. His mourning didn’t have any bounds, wracking from him into the walls, spreading throughout the house.</p><p>Arms slid around him from the back, and a head rested against his shoulder. “I’m here. It’s okay,” Malcolm whispered, his voice thick with sadness.</p><p>Gil closed his eyes and pretended he was holding his wife, their kid curling up with them after a nightmare.</p><p>“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Malcolm continued soothing.</p><p>One day it would be.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>fin</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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